“I see. You think, as I am, that I am not much credit to you, Mrs. Trevanion, of Highcourt. But there might be different opinions about that.” Offence brought a flush of color to his cheek. “Miss Trevanion, of Highcourt, was not so difficult to please,” he added, with a laugh of vanity. “She showed no particular objections to me; but you have ruined me there, I suppose, once for all.” This attack left her speechless. She could not for the moment reply, but only looked at him with that appeal in her eyes, to which, in the assurance not only of his egotism, but of his total unacquaintance with what was going on in her mind, her motives and ways of thinking, he was utterly insensible. This, however, was only the first of many arguments on the subject which filled those painful days. When he saw that the preparations still went on, Edmund’s disgust was great. “I see Jane is still going on packing,” he said. “You don’t mind, then, that I can’t bear it? What should you drag me away for? I am quite happy here.” “My dear,” she said, “you were complaining yourself that you have not anything to do. You have no friends here.” “Nor anywhere,” said Edmund; “and whose fault is that?” “Perhaps it is my fault. But that does not alter the fact, Edmund. If I say that I am sorry, that is little, but still it does not mend it. In Italy everything will amuse you.” “Nothing will amuse me,” said the young man. “I tell you I don’t care for scenery. What I want to see is life.” “In travelling,” said Mrs. Trevanion, “you often make friends, and you see how the people of other countries live, and you learn--” “I don’t want to learn,” he cried abruptly. “You are always harping upon that. It is too late to go to school at my age. If I have no education you must put up with it, for it is your fault. And what I want is to stay here. London is the place to learn life and everything. And if you tell me that you couldn’t get me plenty of friends, if you chose to exert yourself, I don’t believe you. It’s because you won’t, not because you can’t.” “Edmund!” “Oh, don’t contradict me, for I know better. There is one thing I want above all others, and I know you mean to go against me in that. If you stay here quiet, you know very well they will come to town like everybody else, for the season, and then you can introduce me. She knows me already. The last time she saw me she colored up. She knew very well what I was after. This has always been in my mind since the first time I saw her with you. She is fond of you. She will be glad enough to come, if it is even on the sly--” He was very quick to see when he had gone wrong, and the little cry that came from her lips, the look that came over her face, warned him a moment too late. He “colored up,” as he said, crimson to the eyes, and endeavored with an uneasy laugh to account for his slip. “The expression may be vulgar,” he said, “but everybody uses it. And that’s about what it would come to, I suppose.”